"diverting" poems
The day is bright and blue,
While the night hails the universe's true view.
The sun, hailed as the giver of all life and the first true fire,
As the moon is considered all of death's lyres.
While life is given power by the sun,
The moon is the cloak for all of its assassins.
As the sun is fiery and passionate,
Our moon is quiet and loves maleficence.
As the day gives only the bare truth,
The night covers all that who are to sleuth
Sun and moon,
God and Satan,
Earth and sky,
Truth and jive,
Life and death,
Fire and water,
Dusk and dawn
Diverting Martyrs
Oppositions of our humainty,
Sun and moon,
Balance our reality...
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
Your Style Can Not Dominate
Not Being Crude, Not Spreading Hate
I'm Just Spreading The Word, Going To Radiate
Even Without It, You'd Probably Meet Your Fate
Taking You Down Has Become My Mission
Going To Split Your Mind, Sanity Fission
And Your World In Two, Territorial Division
I'm Coming At You With Insane Precision
Not Going To Rush, Going To Be Tactical
Make Sure My Plans Are 100% Practical
Attacking Aimlessly Would Be Impractical
Give My People A Show, Theatrical
I'm Flawless, You're Flawed
When People Hear My Words, They Applaud
When They Hear yours? They Call The Firing Squad
I Don't Think Inside The Box, I Think Abroad
I'm Guessing By Now You Must Be Hurting
You Coming To Me, Asking For Some Kind Of Converting
The Topic Kills You, You're Diverting
To You. I'm Quite Alerting
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Stillness within tranquil,
Movements within clamour;
In mixture she stood there,
Introvert she names.
Gazing and perceiving,
Simply fascinating;
But residing in her world,
was nothing but hollow.
Catching her insight,
Diverting towards him;
telling herself,
that she never matters.
Self-pity, she would say,
But I say strength;
Pathetic, she labelled,
Thou I say brave.
She was simply a girl,
Malicious was an unknown;
Through dawn and dusk,
She became a title.
A title she called,
The Introverts.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
EAST BOSTON, 1996
ON THE BUS
Franz Wright
It's one thing when you're twenty-one,
and I was way past twenty-one.
With unshaven face half concealed in the collar
of some deceased porcine philanthropist's
black cashmere rag of a coat,
I knew that I looked like a suicide
returning an overdue book to the library.
Almost everyone else did as well,
but I found no particular solace in this;
at best, the fact awakened some diverting speculations
on the comparative benefits
of waiting in front of a ditch to be shot
alone or in company
of others, and then whether one would prefer
these last hypothetical others
to be friends, family, enemies, total
or relative strangers. Would you hold hands?
Or would you rather like a good **** sapiens
monster employ them
to cover your genitals?
What percentage would lose bowel control?
And given time restrictions -
and assuming some still had the ability to move -
would ostracism result? Anyway,
I knew the rules on this bus.
No eye contact: the eyes of the terrified
terrify. Look
like you know where you're going,
possess ample change to get there,
and don't move your lips when you talk
to yourself: the destroyed
and sick, the poor, the hungry
and the disturbed estrange.
The badly dressed estrange, even,
and that is uncalled for. The degree
of one's power to estrange will increase
in direct proportion to the depth
of need for others. Do not cry.
This can only bring about, on the one hand,
an instant condition of banishment
from the sole available companionship, or
on the other, a near
fatal beating (one more disappointment).
Just follow the simple instruction
if you ever come here.
It's easy to remember - any idiot can do it.
Don't cry,
the world has abandoned us.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
Once upon a time
In a far away land
The dreamers get rewarded
Diverting from facing reality
I'm breakin free from the norm
I had the best time of my life
Wish the time could always freeze
If I lived
In a far away land
If I lived in a land far far away
Once upon a time
In a far away landI'm breakin free from the norm
I had the best time of my lifeIf I lived
In a far away land
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
Once upon a time
In a far away land
The dreamers get rewarded
Diverting from facing reality
I'm breakin free from the norm
I had the best time of my life
Wish the time could always freeze
If I lived
In a far away land
If I lived in a land far far away
Once upon a time
In a far away landI'm breakin free from the norm
I had the best time of my lifeIf I lived
In a far away land
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
Today I saw you as you.
I saw everything about you.
I studied you.
I attempted to understand you.
I shift my eyes away from yours
diverting them to your ears
the ears that listened to my incessant cries
and heard my foolish fears
I move down to your mouth
which spoke to me only kind words
and also incompetently mimic the chirping
Of Abyssinian lovebirds
I scan over your honey-olive arm
and the smoothness of your skin
which, for warmth, among other things
I seek refuge in
I hung my head earthward
giving attention to your feet
the ones that brought you far and wide
just to let us meet
You call my name.
I glance back up and look you in the eye
those eyes were now blank and cold
I could not see you anymore, but I still try.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
We load the road of our success
With boulders of forgetfulness,
Stumbling each time again
As if we were but mindless men.
Shrunken, looking drunken,
Mumbling, some grumbling,
We were people, but barely,
Rarely standing up to stress.
Preferring to dress in the rags
Like hags and hobos, up to elbows
In the trash we bought with cash
Instead of buying our birthrights
Back from those who ****** us
Then ignored us, we were needing,
Some bleeding, and dying
And nobody but us was crying.
We’d carry all those speed bumps
We carefully crafted with our hands
And let them stand before us
To deter us and divert us every day
But not in a diverting way like TV.
It was a travesty, a mummer’s play
In which we each played our part
But, not like art come to life, oh no
It was a horror show for fools
And it was our own tools and effort
That pulled together to create a ride
In a non-amusing park of suicide.
Many of us don’t notice the slide
Until everybody and everything
Is on the upside and we are not.
It’s a kind of mental, moral rot.
Then the travesty became a tragedy
For you and for me, endlessly.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 2:46 AM UTC
HOW YOU SHOULD KNOW US
DEATH, DEFEAT, AND FEAR
We do not die.
We do not fear death.
Destroy the Body, and the Animus is cast into The Darkness.
But the Animus returns.
But we are not all brave.
We feel pain, and fear it.
We feel shame, and fear it.
We feel loss, and fear it.
We hate the Darkness, and fear it.
The Scamps have small thoughts, and cannot fear greatly.
The Vermai have no thoughts, and cannot fear.
The Dremora have deep thoughts, and must master fear to overcome it.
THE CLAN BOND
We are not born;
we have not fathers nor mothers, yet we have kin and clans.
The clan-form is strong. It shapes body and thought.
In the clan-form is strength an purpose
THE OATH BOND
We serve by choice.
We serve the strong, so that their strength might shield us.
Clans serve by long-practice, but practice may change.
Dremora have long served the dreamer but not always so.
Practice is secure when oath-bonds are secure, and trust is shared.
When oath-bonds are weak, there is pain, and shame, and loss, and Darkness, and great fear.
HOW WE THINK ABOUT MAN
Perhaps you find Scamps comic, and Vermai brutish.
How then do you imagine we view you humans?
You are the Prey, and we are the Huntsmen.
The Scamps are the Hounds, and the Vermai the Beaters.
Your flesh is sweet, and the chase is diverting.
As you may sometimes praise the fox or hare, admiring its cunning and speed, and lamenting as the hounds tear its flesh, so do we sometimes admire our prey, and secretly applaud when it cheats our snares or eludes pursuit.
But, like all worldly things, you will in time wear, and be used up.
You age, grow ugly, weak, and foolish.
You are always lost, late or soon.
Sometimes the prey turns upon us and bites.
It is a small thing.
When wounded or weary, we fly away to restore.
Sometimes a precious thing is lost, but that risk makes the chase all the sweeter.
MAN'S MYSTERY
Man is mortal, and doomed to death and failure and loss.
This lies beyond our comprehension - why do you not despair?
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 1:53 PM UTC
At random I start the day with poem
Beginning with nothing in particular
Caring only the flow of words fine
Diverting attention to points I know!
Effortlessly many do same since long
Full of animosity signifying nothing!
Good turns here and there make good
High ideas of heart evoking feeling nice!
I always look for great and noble ideas
Joyfully exploring Nature, love, life and
Keeping the flow of river in mind ever!
Loving souls' appreciation on all expressions
Many pieces have clicked well many a time
Never leaving anyone sans any hope ever!
Of course all smooth flowing poems go well
Paving the way for better ideas on and on!
Quality too has not so far dimmed in all
Regular inputs of best pieces in forms fine!
Sense, sound and scenes of Nature beautiful
Totally have touched the hearts of many friends!
Universal appeal of excellent ideas has captured
Variety of readers from all walks of life ever!
World of poetry never lets me down in life
X,Y,Z though may not have heart to praise
Zealous expressions of inspired visions so far!
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
hurt never hurt so much
it's in the songs we cry
in the silent screams
that let our demons
know
where we hide
pain causes more pain
like a dull and rusty knife
cutting away vestiges
of a heart that pretends
it beats
with life
wishes are lollies
in candy dishes
a folly
that they taste
as sweet as they look
dirt is thrown
diverting a hurt
to atone
shredding the pages
of an unread book
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 1:21 AM UTC
I want to make her delve into something new
Not anything she's used to
Totally changing it up
She deserves to have some fun
Making my heart on the run
Diverting me from misery sung
I'm going to make her words burr
And her voice stuff
With raw pleasure
Its hard to measure
My fervid ambition to make her happy
I know I'm naughty and sappy
That's what I like
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 6:35 AM UTC
Here is just another thought
Going down the stream,
Just another thought.
Leaking from a tap
With the label "purity"
Just another trap
The obsessive mind gullibly bites the lure,
Obscured by clouds connections,
Concealing the large picture.
How every blast creates a reaction!
Panic attacks to draw the attention.
Where’s the crack in the grand ***** wall,
So we can strike down the reservoir?
Diverting the river that must belong to all
Before our eyes - wider worlds shrinking small;
Cradled by the uniformity of lies that appease,
Those grazing in the dunes still tarry at ease.
It’s no wonder!
Insecurity has grown into a most lucrative market
As danger becomes the currency on which to place the bet;
Release the flow from the control that profits hold fast,
Question the junk food that's become the pasture of our mass.
Continuous diversions
Feeding everyone’s greed
Fulfilling false concerns -
So easily believed!
How every blast creates a reaction!
Panic attacks to draw the attention.
Will the facts in knowledge’s downfall
Let us unshackle the repertoire?
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 3:49 PM UTC
I took time for a walk
And she pulled on the leash
At first, I kept my ground
Heels lifted tip-toeing arm outstretched
Eventually I had to follow my shoulder
She led me past streets and streets
Of large houses full of large people
Symmetrical windows and faces
Coarse grass reached through my shoes
With a slow jog, we came to a field
My feet landing in every crack in the pavement
The sun sat square in the centre of the sky
As we left the sky turned to ocean
Running now through neon and road signs
Swimming in the dark rain
Puddles splash as we pick up the pace
Diverting onto the road
My 20s were a flurry of leaves
On grey morning ground
I know I have much further to go
But. I'm already halfway
My 30s were a sprint
My 40s a still faster walk
50s, 60s, 70s
We finally slow
I wander now
Between each step is an infinity
But each foot fall
Passes in an instant
I walk closer and closer to the evening sun
A shadow extends behind me forever
And the way reaches in front of me even longer
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 4:17 AM UTC
six months to the day,
of treading along.
like many good things,
an Internet accident.
180 days can be converted
to one of these units:
15,552,000 seconds
259,200 minutes
4320 hours
180 days
25 weeks
(rounded down)
six months here,
a fortune of time,
goodly to behold.
new faces
from new places,
now crowd the heart
that has no shape,
for it expands daily,
making room for
more of you.
your welcome
welcomes more than poems.
ces triestes,
ces chansons de mon cœur,
don de la liberté,
doués pour vous,
dans la célébration de mon
Jour de l'Indépendance
some fingernail torn
from darker memories,
from fears of the future.
others from eyes to paper
ink spilled quickly,
lest the letters,
remain among the
stillborn ashes
hid in the caverns
of the man's mouth.
the ink in the bottle,
that spilt,
gotta be drops of
mixed blood.
by anybody's definition.
perhaps you sense the fearful
truths that lie within,
some yet to be invoked,
unvoiced, unyoked,
for which my concealer
in actuality is a
point-the-way revealer.
all in. good time.
Yet, never met a poem
did not like,
for the man in the beast
is just like {you, man}.
my only excuse for
to having not read
all of yours,
is oft thine stop me hot,
diverting me
to spill some more,
oh child of mine.
convinced still,
is the man,
that the secret
to this poetry racket,
is to never ever stop
laughing at yourself,
loving all the parts of you,
secretly and
secretly, as well,
in the open wide.
so you feed the beast
that devours me,
for restless are the
words that need a home.
someone said to me,
you are one of those
who are
nostalgic for
the future.
restless is the man inside
the beast, restless is the
beast that is the man,
who hates the word I.
With this sole exception.
I thank you.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
Some call me a genius.
Some call me insane.
My friends say I'm a tragedy.
My parents say I'm just a little eccentric.
Tell me what you think.
I am nothing but a puppet.
Being handled and tossed around.
After awhile I'm just set aside.
I'm diverting at first, almost enjoyable, but, in the end, a bitter pill to all.
I apperceive no need to breath.
I have to necessitate my lungs to swell with air, then to shrivel, and epitomize the essence of life.
That's where my eloquence comes from, or it's the insanity. I'm not sure.
In my frigid, obscured, irrecoverable mind, insanity is eloquence, eloquence is tragedy, and tragedy is beauty.
I exist for the darkest of romances, the most distorted of lives.
It brings me what's closest to a sense of your "well-being".
I hate, therefore, I love.
So if I love hate, then, I love circles.
That's what my love is, a circle.
The grasps of reality, though persistent, quickly overwrought and became transient to me not very recently, but not too long ago.
I will abruptly tear down and rip to shreds any mark of social normality in or around me.
Now, will you decide whether I live or die?
Or shall I for you?
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
the tunic slid down off her
supple ******* the milk
and honey of my hungry eyes, slow flutter-
-by like butterfly kisses,
eyelashes on my heart's now fevered skin,
for skin, yea, all i'd give,
to touch smooth porcelain-like
vase, or marble Venus, statue-
-esque I stand, attentive now she covers-
-up, i too take cover, diverting
eyes, in opposite directions carrying
the weight of just one moment
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 10:12 AM UTC
With the way you smile when you see me near,
the way you stare when I am here,
the way you feel my greatest fears,
the way you see my invisible tears.
The way you make me feel I'm wanted,
the way you understand my deep hatred,
the way you carry that smile of content,
the way you plan out your very intent.
The way you accept me at my own flaws,
the way you notice me on a sudden pause,
the way you laugh out when I go crazy,
the way you don't care if I am lazy.
The way you keep your silence at times,
the way you hide and present your lies,
the way you accept all hurt from me,
the way you let me just be me.
The way you comfort me in distress,
the way you care when I'm drowned in loneliness,
the way you caution me when I'm not alright,
the way you support me in my every fight.
The way you just know what I am feeling,
the way you speak for me when I'm not speaking,
the way you show that someone's behind me,
the way you come just when I needed somebody.
The way you light your own hopes up,
the way you continue and never stop,
the way you feel the pain alone,
the way you've waited, now it has grown.
Every moment has never been this significant
I never expected a feeling so instant,
You started it all, now I'm feeling alright
A dull, empty world, now a paradise so bright.
But love won't allow an overload in my heart
I'm clearing it up to make another start,
And I can't be so swift in diverting my emotions
I've known all these before, I know the cautions.
Time, that's all I have to be enough with
To offer a better and more enlightened lead,
If I am to push through or just be fair
Preserve the friendship or make a new affair?
I can't stand to witness myself wither
Frustrations caused by hearts so bitter,
Trust breaks so easily when badly stained
Hearts wound so deeply when unexpectedly pained.
In this new course, I see no certainty
I may be happy, or be hurt so unluckily,
But one thing I know, we cannot both feel
What our eyes speak if it's never real.
Chances are presented, though not that right
Waiting for the moment when I already need to fight,
For now, I can't give it a straighter view
But all I know now is it's just about me and you.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 3:21 AM UTC
We all question our sanity,
Or insanity, for that matter
Moments of blankness, staring into
Eternity and wondering "who am I",
Not "who have I become?"
After brief concentration our
Response rapidly
Evolves, and then some-
Thing clicks.
Heels on the floor
Enticing me to succumb.
Diverting my attention,
Effortlessly thwarting
Another perfectly good
Thought that was pre-
Heated, only partially done.
Out of the frying pan and into the
Fire tends to be a rule of thumb
Maybe this last time,
Eternity won.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 8:51 PM UTC
dear doctor crombie
rhymes with cranberry remember
that’s what you told me so that i
would remember your name
and you chuckled like that was
the most clever thing in the world
but all i cared about was getting the hell
out of the **** psychiatric ward because being
in that place made me want to try
and **** myself all over again
which is totally the opposite of
what i was hoping for when i agreed to be
admitted but i digress
because what stuck
with me more than the dismal room
i was put in that was either
as hot as hell-fire or freezing cold
to the point where i decided that i’d rather
be able to see my breath than be soaked in sweat
and your shitty-ass joke
was the fact that on our first meeting
you told me that you thought my
coming out as transgender was
nothing more
than a diversion tactic
now dr. crombie
i want you to put yourself in my place
i was 16 years old
stimming and shaking as you stared me down
and then labeled me as nothing more than
a diversion tactic
and that crushed me
it had only been a few days since
i swallowed 40 trazodone and accepted
the fact that i would not be waking up again
and that was all you had to say to me
a diversion tactic
you pulled down the very core
of what i was in two words
and my god i hated you so much
in that moment
because dr. crombie
i had known i was not a girl
since i was 7 years old
and i held that inside me for 9 long years
that almost killed me
because *********
i knew that i wasn’t a girl for longer
than i had lived as a girl
and you just didn’t care
you took what i had given to you
laying myself out before you
because i was a scared
mentally ill teenager
that had just survived a
******* suicide attempt
and all you had to say
that my being transgender
was a diversion tactic
and even now
three years later
that still haunts me
the fact that you
a heterosexual cisgender male
born with a ***** and a flat chest
decided to chalk up my
9 years of hell to nothing more than
a diversion tactic
so dr. crombie
tell me what do you think
i was diverting from exactly
when i had willingly been admitted
to a sterile-smelling hellscape
where i was forced to relive
how i tried to forcibly end my life
every day in the ******** little therapy groups
that made me feel so much older and hollowed out
tell me doctor
what exactly was i diverting from
what was i trying to hide from and behind
by putting myself through the hell
of being near constantly dead-named
and misgendered and having to pay
up into the double digits just to change
my legal my deadname
and gender marker from an F to an M
and being told that i was technically still a girl
and being asked why i couldn’t just be a tomboy
a lesbian
a ****
a butch
why couldn’t i just be a girl huh
why did i have to be a boy
so tell me
dr. crombie
rhymes with cranberry
just what exactly was i
******* diverting from
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 11:29 PM UTC
There’s always been something controlling me,
I knew, but I knew not what,
Something diverting and foiling me
Since the days that I lay in my cot,
I thought it was simply a parent thing
As they whispered their rules in my ear,
The things that were right and the things that were wrong
And the things I would most have to fear.
They sent me to school and the teachers, too,
Must have read from the very same book,
They always laid blame and they said it the same
And the cane lent a sting to their hook.
‘You’re coming to learn, not to think for yourself,
You’ll repeat everything that I say,
And maybe just some of these rules will stick
If you dwell on the rules every day!’
Then once in the world my employers unfurled
All the rules and the regs I would keep,
I didn’t last long, I’d seen them before
And told them they put me to sleep.
The government fined and unlicensed me
From a book that they said was the law,
The magistrates sat on a heap of these books
As I shrugged and I said, ‘What for?’
I sat in the jail for contempt of court,
Spent plenty of time in my cell,
The world was consumed with a million rules
Designed to consign you to hell.
I watched all the lawyers and prisoners, cops
As they danced to the rules of the cot,
And sensed they were puppets, and most of them fools
Who would baulk at the words, ‘I will not!’
They’d hate to be questioned, they thought they were right,
If you disagreed you were canned,
They’d lock you away for a hospital stay
There was no going back, it was planned.
You had to be made to agree with their way
So they clamped electrodes on your head,
Then slide up the volts, and it wasn’t their fault
If it happened you ended up dead.
They called it Electro-therapy
And said it was doing you good,
But the thoughts in my brain they were never the same
When I came out from under that hood,
I saw the strings jerking from shoulders and heads
In a vision you couldn’t conceive,
And there were the hands that were pulling their strings
When I called out, ‘I don’t believe!’
‘I’ve never believed and I’ll never believe,’
I called, and they all moved away,
A thunderous cracking of mortar and ceiling,
It all fell apart on that day.
The strings fell away from my shoulders and hands
And I knew I was finally free,
And then I called up to the Puppet Master,
‘You won’t be controlling me!’
People were falling all over the place
As he dropped all the strings from his hands,
The bearded Master could see the disaster,
‘You’ve ruined my world and my plans!’
He paused for a moment and then he was gone
Leaving people to blink in the light,
The rules were the rules of the Puppet Master
Now we can decide what is right!
David Lewis Paget
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 8:28 AM UTC
Primal and moaning low,
she is your salacious vortex,
the ever-whirling urgency around your core,
the yearning soul crux
in your ripe self-womb
Screaming your name,
she is lust.
Feral and ravenous,
she is the thrumming flux of oceanic heat
flooding your cells,
inciting your wet appetites
with her probing greedy tongues.
She is lust.
Ancient and powerful,
she infiltrates your mind,
diverting its purpose to her own.
The exquisite agony of her insistence
rips through all your awareness
and erupts your body-
you open your jaws and howl her name,
becoming her beast.
She is lust
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC